Deportation

Yep, it's done.

It was a pretty strange day for me, probably because I was home alone all morning.  My family was out of town so I was a bit unhinged without distraction.  Don't feel sorry for me, friends offered to keep me company and I declined.  I wanted to drink in the enormity of the day alone.  Even though none of this changes or even affects my long term outcome, it was something of a symbolic loop closing.  This is big coming from a person who thinks that the idea of closure is just a fiction; an exercise is self-deception.

As the time approached I tried to call my husband and couldn't get through.  I got a little basket-casey but he finally called as I was getting ready to walk into the surgery center.  That was a tremendous relief.  I always forget that he's a last minute kind of guy.

I got settled into the pre-op room, just like I did for my two other surgeries.  I took my journal and tried to write, but I was nervous and anxious and seriously scattered.  I kept thinking about my other surgeries, comparing and contrasting.  This time I wasn't hooked up to an IV or any beeping equipment.  It was just me in that humiliating surgical gown and since I was stone cold sober I could be supremely self-conscious about my derrière while walking across the hall to the bathroom.

For almost an hour I waited, leaning back in the reclining chair in my room just breathing.  The breathing was doing its calming work except for the occasional interruption of the neighbors moaning and panting and crying.  I didn't like that much.  I had to keep reminding myself that was once me.  And, that it was no longer me.

When the time came, I actually walked into the Operating Room.  That was weird.  Here I am in my gown, booties and special surgical hat being escorted by the nurse.  It was like a victory march and four other nurses stood in the hallway and cheered me on like I was a rock star.

Dang, that was big.

I wish the some sort of theme song would have been playing. I'm thinking that Wide World of Sports song -- the thrill of victory... the agony of defeat. 


I got all strapped in on the OR table with those big round lights shining on me.  The doctor injected the area with something local and numbing and got to work.  It was pretty weird.  I could feel a little tugging, but there was no pain at all.  I could smell a burning smell but was too afraid to ask what part of me exactly was burning.  The whole time I carried on a conversation with the doctor and the nurse... one kid was at camp, one kid was visiting his in-laws, the big kid known as the husband was visiting with high school friends.  We talked about local farming, the tasty corn this year and drivers ed training.

I didn't keep it, but I did look at it.
It looked just like this one
(except mine was a little bloody)

Then it was over.

They made me sit in a wheelchair to go back to post op, but I was only there briefly.  Vital signs, put back on the clothes and wait for my post op instructions.  The discharging nurse was in the next room giving drain stripping instructions and I was awash in two waves: sympathy for the coming journey for the newbie and gratitude that I don't have drains.  Her instructions for me were brief and I was dismissed.

I've taken Advil twice for soreness, but there really is very little pain.  As I write this, I am getting ready to remove the dressings, reminding me of the emotion of my last unveiling that ended up being the story in Reflections from Women.  I'm not ever going to try to convince myself that it's all better now, but this procedure gave me an undeniable sense that it's time to move on.

It's a whole different mojo now.